::it is well::

I love politics but had, for some reason, pretty much tried to steer clear in this blog. I'm not really sure why. Maybe subconsciously I wanted to "please" all my readers. However, I read a few articles that I felt passionate about recently and felt compelled to post links to them. I also had previously posted a... well... poster showing pictures of republican and democrat women that was meant completely and utterly as a joke and was not in anyway meant to draw political commentary. (I can't imagine I offended any of my liberal readers because my readers are too smart to take offense at anything so ridiculous.)

But it's funny how, when you talk about politics, people come out of the crawlspaces er, woodwork to throw firey darts of blind and rancid hate at you. Anyway, I have been reminded because of a little spark a previous post of mine caused, that it's so important not to stoop to the level of some of those out there who are motivated by rage and hatred. Hating someone simply for what they are (republican, democrat, christian, buddist, hindu, whatever) is nothing but cowardice, weakness and a true sign of self-loathing. Let's try to rise above such immaturity.

It's nice to have the calm confidence that comes from having the courage of one's convictions.

You can't win a battle with pure hate. It makes you look angry and silly.

On to better things...

Lovely day at the beach yesterday.


Beautiful words in my ear from the service this morning. Read the story of this precious hymn and then the lyrics. Even if you've heard it a million times. Then count your blessings.

- Words by Horatio G. Spafford, 1873
- Music by Philip P. Bliss, 1876

The words to this hymn was written after two major traumas in Spafford's life. The first was the Great Chicago Fire of October 1871, which ruined him financially. Shortly after, while crossing the Atlantic, all four of Spafford's daughters died in a collision with another ship. Spafford's wife Anna survived and sent him the now famous telegram: "SAVED ALONE." Several weeks later, as Spafford's own ship passed near the spot where his daughters died, he was inspired to write these words.

IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blessed assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.

It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Happy Sunday.